


my hypocrisy, my pleasure

by Tiara_of_Sapphires



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Masturbation, Pining, Sparring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:42:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21729241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tiara_of_Sapphires/pseuds/Tiara_of_Sapphires
Summary: The new professor took up more of his thoughts that he liked. Over time, it only gets worse
Relationships: Flayn & My Unit | Byleth, Flayn & Seteth (Fire Emblem), My Unit | Byleth/Seteth
Comments: 8
Kudos: 216





	my hypocrisy, my pleasure

**Author's Note:**

> Seteth is a horny and repressed man and Byleth just seems to tic all of the boxes for him.  
>    
> [Big thanks to Jointhebattle for looking this over!](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jointhebattle/pseuds/Jointhebattle)
> 
> Enjoy!

The new professor took up more of his thoughts than he would have liked.

It began with the very fact that she was teaching at the monastery. He had no idea what Rhea was thinking, but was hardly in any position to insist that she be expelled and sent back to whatever mercenary gang she came from.

Rhea trusted her, and he trusted Rhea. That didn't mean he had to approve of her presence here.

His list of accusations continued.

She spoke little, hardly smiled or laughed, at least around him. It was all impassive stares and cold eyes, all up for his own interpretations. Perhaps, she didn't find anything to smile about around him. He didn't quite understand why, and he turned that question over and over in his mind, which was ridiculous. Why would he care about whether or not she smiled at him?

Then, there was her uniform. The shorts, the tights, how her shirt revealed her midriff. It was elegant and vulgar and terribly attractive. He wouldn’t be a prude and he wouldn’t comment on it. She was a grown woman and he wouldn’t be accused of hypocrisy when Manuela got away with worse around the students.

Reasons for his ire fizzled out after that. Her class did better and better by the day. Every time a report landed on his desk on how wonderfully the Blue Lions were performing under her tutelage, the itch under his collar only grew.

Every mission she was sent on was a success. All of her students returned alive and only slightly banged up, the enemies dead or driven out.

She was untrustworthy, alluring, and competent, an utter annoyance. He was barely justified in being short and snappy with her.

That said, he refused to acknowledge the little flutter in his chest when she stopped him in the hallway. There was the exchange of pleasantries, as stiff and awkward as they were.

He made the mistake of telling her that, no, he wasn’t particularly busy at the moment. That was the answer she apparently wanted, because her eyes immediately swept over his body, as if sizing him up.

Then, the flippant challenge. “I hear you’re a good fighter, Seteth, that even the Knights won’t dare challenge you. I’d like to see it for myself.”

A rejection was immediately on his lips, but there was something within him that demanded he agree. That rumor was an exaggeration, though it was assumed that if he was Rhea’s right hand that he would be skilled in combat.

If she was so interested in that to even ask, he couldn't help but tug on that thread.

“Right now, Professor?” he asked.

She pursed her lips in thought for a moment before nodding. “Well, I do have to lecture in a little over an hour. I’d rather not have to put this off and I don’t mind if I’m a little sore afterwards.”

Either she completely meant the double-entendre, or she was blissfully unaware. Regardless, Seteth felt a pang of uncomfortable arousal while the professor stared at him blankly.

“Shall we?” he said, clearing his throat.

She nodded, immediately turning towards the training grounds. He easily walked beside her, since he refused to trail behind her.

The training grounds were blessedly empty, save for the monitor and a few students who were just finishing up a match.

The professor turned to him as they approached the rack of weapons. “I challenged you, so you get to pick what weapons we use.”

Seteth wasn’t going to complain about that. His eyes roamed his various options. He really ought to practice with literally anything other than a lance, but it was what he knew best. And, his pride refused to allow himself to create more chances for her to beat him.

His hand closed over the training lance and she nodded. “Lance. I like a challenge.”

She picked one of her own and strode over to the other side of the training area.

“First to yield loses?” the professor called out, shrugging off her coat and setting it on a nearby bench.

His mouth immediately went dry and his fingers fumbled over his own coat. He didn't recall ever seeing her without the coat and she looked positively sinful without the bulk hiding what her tight clothes revealed.

“Seteth?”

He jerked as if struck. “Ah, yes? Yes. That sounds good.”

He really needed to get a handle on himself or this was going to be an embarrassingly quick spar. Whatever she thought to say, she thought better of it.

The training ground monitor glanced between them with a raised brow. Neither of them thought to ask for someone to watch over the spar, but it seemed like a good idea when he cleared his throat and made his presence known. “I’m assuming you already decided terms?” he asked.

“First to yield loses,” Seteth said, parroting the professor’s terms.

The helmeted man nodded. “Fair by me. Take your positions.”

Distantly, he could hear their impromptu officiant count down. The professor watched him from her position with an inscrutable expression.

The countdown ended and they both began to move.

Not towards each other, not yet. Instead, they circled, tethered to the same orbit.

It took a few long moments before Seteth stepped once, twice, towards the professor to jab at her. She immediately parried, whacking his arm and almost sending his lance skittering out of hand.

They were drawing a crowd, but his surroundings blurred to just the woman in front of him.

It was like a dance, strike and dodge, strike and dodge. She was always moving, keeping her feet light to the ground before planting them firmly to strike at him.

He landed one hit on her hip, sending her stumbling for a moment before she immediately recovered. The feeling of victory, mixed with a strange tinge of regret, was short-lived as it seemed the professor was spurred on to fight harder.

The spar continued. They were both sweating from the exertion, but it seemed like the professor was having an easier time of it than he was. Perhaps she had been going easy on him, playing with him to see where the shortcomings in his form and obvious openings were.

She closed in on him like a predator and Seteth couldn’t help the look of panic that painted his face.

He struck downward, but she was faster. She caught his arm, keeping the lance at bay as she stepped close.

The press of her body against his, as quick as it was, was enough distraction.

She hooked the lance around the back of his leg and shoved him. Seteth lost balance and suddenly he was looking up at the sky. Survival instinct had him scrambling to sit up, but froze when the professor’s wooden lance pressed against his collarbone.

He looked up to see her standing above him. She stared down at him with a quirk of the lips. Victory was hers.

He couldn’t even be upset or cowed about it because he found himself unbearably aroused. She looked down at him like the vengeful incarnation of the Goddess, as if she would destroy him without care.

“Yield?” she asked. Now, she eyed him with confusion. Had she already asked and he had just been staring up at her, awestruck? How embarrassing.

He nodded, painfully aware of the small crowd that had gathered. “I yield.”

Even his voice sounded wrecked. He needed to leave immediately.

He flung on his coat, hoping that it would at least distract from the tightness that only grew in his pants. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the exchange of gold pieces by the students. It was something he ought to scold them for, but the urge to run seemed to overcome all else.

His eyes were drawn to the woman across from him. She placed her training spear in its place on the rack, rolling her shoulders. She had sweated from the exertion, the sheen from her skin catching the sunlight. He could see how she caught her breath.

He couldn't look at her any longer. He would only end up embarrassing himself, conduct below his station.

If she watched him leave, maybe even called after him, he didn't know.

* * *

* * *

Seteth knew the monastery like the back of his hand. The hallways were blessedly empty, up to his office. The door slammed shut and he pressed his back against it, turning the lock.

Manuela and Hanneman were teaching classes. The Captain’s office was empty. Rhea was in the cathedral with Flayn in tow.

He could…just for a moment.

He took a few tentative steps towards his desk before stopping and glancing back at the door. Few people walked these halls for fear of disturbing the offices.

Satisfied that he wouldn’t be disturbed, he yanked off his coat and sat down at his desk with soft sigh.

“Damn it,” he mumbled, undoing the button and zip of his pants with jerky motions. Even his hands brushing against himself had him squirming a little in his seat. It really had been a long time.

He glanced down at himself in shame before he pulled out his erection and gave it a tentative stroke.The pleasure of it almost bowled him over. It had been too long since he last indulged.

He was in trouble. It was barely 3 months since she had arrived and she found a comfortable place under his skin. He couldn't even let his mind wander to think of anyone else but that infernal professor who bested him on the training ground.

Seteth worked his hand over himself, trying to find the angle and the rhythm that his bones remembered that he liked.

He couldn't help a groan as his eyes fell on the short stack of papers on his desk. On top was one of the tests he meant to review. A sloppy, blue-inked ‘A’ on the Gautier boy’s exam. Her handwriting, as messy and inelegant as her existence in his life.

He leaned back in his chair, eyelashes fluttering as he thought back to the spar. She had moved with a fluid grace, but with strength in every blow. If that had been a true battle, he would’ve been struck down. Perhaps that was why Rhea brought her into the monastery. She saw her power and knew that she needed to be on _their_ side, no one else’s.

He hitched up his shirt, unwilling to get it dirty from his shameful activities.

She always looked beautiful, just the right size that she would fit perfectly in his arms. He wondered if that would make her smile. He shook his head, chasing away that soft thought. This was of carnal pleasure, nothing more, nothing less. Seteth’s breath hitched in his chest as his hand flew over his erection, the other in a white-knuckled grip at the chair’s armrest.

It had been so long and he found himself barreling towards the edge faster than his pride would’ve liked.

“Professor.”

No, that wasn’t enough. It wasn’t quite right.

“B—,” he started, before the name caught in his throat.

If he said her name, it would be over. There would be no going back on this shameful display that he will inevitably return to, again and again. He would fit it in with the rest of his daily rituals. Perhaps his last thought, his last act before sleep would be of her, in her name.

His toes curled in his boots, heat around his ears. Would she think of him too? Would she touch herself, find pleasure with his face in her mind, his name on her lips? How perfect that would be, a carnal union, a ritual that tied them together, even across the monastery grounds.

“Byleth!”

Her name, a prayer, a sacrilege. For a moment, as he spilled hot over his fingers, the only goddess on Seteth’s mind was Byleth.

For a long moment, he sat, boneless, as his seed cooled in his hand and stomach. His heartbeat pounded in his ears. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to find Byleth and kiss her silly, give her the same kind of pleasure that he had experienced, or if he wanted to find Rhea and have her expelled from the monastery immediately, Jeralt Eisner’s stellar record be damned.

With clumsy movements, he cleaned himself with a handkerchief, resolving himself to burn it as soon as he had opportunity.

He let his head thump onto his desk with a groan, letting the cool wood chill his overheated skin.

Only to jump so hard his knees hit the bottom of his desk when a series of knocks sounded.

“Who is it?” Seteth called out, tossing the filthy handkerchief into one of the desk drawers.

“It is I, Brother! May I come in? Are you busy?”

Seteth cursed himself before frantically fixing his pants and going to unlock the door.

Normally, seeing Flayn and hearing Flayn’s voice would make him smile, and even then, it still did. He just couldn't help that feeling of shame that came with seeing his daughter just moments after being in such a state.

He opened the office door to see her sunny smile.

“Yes, Flayn? I am sorry, but I am occupied at the moment.”

He hated lying to her, knowing how much she hated being lied to.

Clearly, Flayn didn’t buy it. She looked him over, pointing accusingly at his face. “Your cheeks are so red, Brother! Are you unwell?”

He shook his head. “Ah, no. I’m fine.”

Flayn bounced on her heels for a moment. “If you say so, Brother. But I will bother Manuela for medicine if this continues.”

Seteth nodded. “Of course.”

“Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that I had tea with Professor Byleth today!”

The recent memory of his shame had his cheeks heating anew. Why would Flayn and the professor be having tea together?

He delayed too much in answering because Flayn pointed again, pouting. “Aha! I see you’re blushing, Brother.”

“Flayn, please keep it down,” Seteth hissed, cursing himself for not getting his reactions under control. This was why he didn't indulge in such things. It only made him slip. “What did you talk about?”

Either the question distracted Flayn or she allowed the subject to be dropped. Regardless, Seteth was thankful when she continued. “The monastery, mostly, and her recent times as a mercenary. She is such a good fighter! I told her that you were good at fighting too and that you should train together!”

Seteth cringed. Of course, somehow this was Flayn’s doing. After all these years, she seemed to know what was in his mind before he could even acknowledge it, even if she didn't fully understand it herself.

“I see.”

“She’s a good listener, but she also tells good stories. Would you be upset if I show her one of your fables for next time? I won’t even tell her that it’s yours!”

To have Flayn so open and trusting with the new professor should’ve been troubling. It would be something that he would weigh in his mind. The war and Flayn’s injuries wouldn’t be something so easily dismissed.

Even then…

“Very well. You shall have your pick.”

Flayn grinned, clapping her hands.

“Excellent! I shall leave you to it, Brother. I’ll see you at dinner.”

She skipped away and Seteth stared after her, somehow feeling better and worse about the whole situation at the same time.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> [Here’s my Tumblr! Feel free to follow and drop Setleth drabble/fic requests!](https://tiaraofsapphires.tumblr.com/)
> 
> All feedback is appreciated! Comments/kudos feed me and definitely motivate me to write more stories!
> 
> Cheers!


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